In Your Eyes
by Miss Scarlet Cross
Summary: It wasn't something you planned. Often it happened on a whim. Maybe there's the vague idea swimming in the back of your mind of who you want or how you want them. Tonight though, it was all Fate.
1. Fate

It was piercing, the cold that is. It wasn't something that much bothered Castiel though. He knew exactly what he was doing this evening and had prepared and planned well. A luxurious, tan trench coat stocked with knives. He wore a dress shirt and tie under it to lure innocents. Or just an innocent. One would do. He'd just have to make it last longer.

Snow crunched under his feet as he approached the side of the highway and hiked out his thumb. He didn't often bother looking at road signs but last time he had checked he was in Wyoming, maybe it was Colorado by now. Anyway, it didn't matter. A kill was a kill. And as a sleek, black car pulled up besides him, he started counting the minutes until blood coated his pale fingers again.

Cas' icy blue eyes scanned over the car and it's driver. The Car was old, a classic muscle car. He couldn't tell which one though, he's never been into cars. The man inside had a nice smile, Castiel noted. He had pretty green eyes, Castiel made a mental note not to gouge them out. It'd be a shame to ruin such pretty eyes.

"Name's Dean," he called opening the door for Castiel. "Hop in."

Castiel climbed in without a word and shut the door. The seats were soft leather and the radio was vintage with the car and tuned to a rock station.

"You like Black Sabbath?" Dean asked, he turned the music down a bit so they could carry on their conversation.

"I've always been more of a Cake and Nirvana kind of guy myself," Castiel answered honestly.

"Well everyone's entitled to an opinion, even if it's wrong," Dean retorted. Castiel rolled his eyes. Dean must have caught it firing back, "I give you a ride in my Baby and you insult my music and I don't even know your name. I don't think that's quite right."

"It's Castiel, and I wasn't insulting. I was letting you have your opinion, even if it's wrong."

Dean opened his mouth to make a comeback but after a moment of thought he closed it and let the silence press. Trees illuminated by headlights and the dashed white line of the one way road whizzed by Dean's car speed along. Castiel feigned cold hands and stuffed them in his pockets. His hand concealed in his jacket he caressed the hilt of his favorite blade. He was just itching to mark up Dean pretty little face. Except those eyes, it'd be a sin to touch them.

"So Cas, where are you headed?" Dean inquired.

"Away," Castiel breathed "I don't care where but anywhere is better than here."

It was partly true. That was how his journey had begun. The ambition to escape and find oneself. Except Castiel found himself in an entirely different way than expected.

"I'm on my way to meet up with my brother. Little Sammy managed to get himself in trouble and now I have to get him out."

"That's very kind of you," Castiel stated. "I don't know so much that my siblings would do that for me."

The tree line thinned considerably as they approached a small town. Most of the homes and shops were dark at this late hour, but off the main road a gas station remained open. Dean signaled to get off the highway and entered the small town. His car wove through the streets like a predator stalking its prey as he approached the gas station. Dean pulled up next to one of the pumps.

"I gotta get some fuel and take a leak. Need anything?" He asked shutting off the car.

Castiel nodded his response of "no" before Dean left, shutting the door heavily. When he was sure Dean was in the store Castiel pulled the blade from his jacket. He ran its fingers over the blade's flat and delicately traced the serrated edge. His hands were calm but his heart was racing. Odd as it was, he always got like this before a kill. His body flooded with adrenaline, begging and preparing for the next hit. He heard the faint slap of shoes on concrete signaling Deans return long before the car door opened.

"Damn, it's cold," Dean muttered, his hands moving towards the ignition.

Quick as lighting Castiel's arm flew into the air, the blade like an extension of his arm. The razor edge landing mere centimeters from Deans throat.

"Well," Dean stated matter o' factly "this is a bit awkward."

He slowly moved his hands down to the side compartment on the car door. He reached in a pulled out a shiny handgun. Castiel pressed the blade closer to Deans neck causing a thin line of blood pearls to surface. Dean looked like he wanted to laugh but the knife was preventing him.

"I was going to kill you," Dean mocked.

Castiel analyzed his surroundings. There must be a mistake. The coding of the universal missed a digit. He was careful. He had waited. He... He... Hadn't bothered to take a closer look at Dean's face. The dim light provided on the highway had obscured it but now with the harsh fluorescent light of the gas station flooding in he could see it. This man went on rampages. Mass shooting, whole families slaughtered, Dean was a living nightmare.

"You're the Demon Killer," Castiel gasped.

It was the nickname the News had given him after he had filmed himself killing a woman and her children in a what looked like some kind of ritual. Through out the entire film the camera angle made it look like his eyes were pure black.

Dean took advantage of Castiel's moment of distraction, grabbing for Castiel's hand at his throat. He slammed it down on the steering wheel, the impact made the knife pop out of Castiel's hand. Dean raised his gun and pointed it at a now defenseless Castiel.

"And they don't have a name for you yet do they, Cas?" Dean cocked the gun. "But I know you're the one who's been dropping bodies along highways at night. Yeah, you're good. Take and dump the car each time, clean kill, no survivors. But you know what? I knew it was you before you pulled that knife on me. I knew it the second you got in my car. You see, when you spend almost your whole life around other killers you get to recognize the differences between them and normal folk real quick. Sometimes it the way they talk or how clean they keep their rooms, but with you, it's in your eyes."

Castiel glared at him with hate. He hated he had given himself away. He hated that he was in a weak position right now. He hated he hadn't seen the same signs in Dean's pretty, green eyes.

"I'll tell you what," Dean said uncocking the gun "since I'm a fan of your work. I gotta say, the wings are nice touch. I think you have potential, I'll help you get that name. But you have to prove yourself. Sammy got himself in an ass load of trouble and I can use all the help I can get. So if you help me get him out and you can run with us for a bit."

Castiel weighed his options. Refuse and Dean would probably kill him. Try to run and Dean would definitely kill him. Attack? No, his best weapon sat in Dean's lap and the next best thing he had was a his back up switch blade. That left only one option then.

"Yeah alright, where's your brother anyway?" He tried to sound nonchalant, like his heart wasn't jacked up on adrenalin.

Dean smiled as he handed Cas back his knife. "California, he was selling drugs in college to make a little side money when he got busted." Dean put the gun safely back in its side compartment before revving the engine to life.

"So we have to break him out of jail? I'm sure that won't be hard for you." If Cas recalled correctly Dean was quite good with pyrotechnics.

"Oh no, it's not that easy. The Infernum Nocte gang have him."

Dean pulled out of the gas station's parking lot as a speed so great the car got on two wheels. In a matter of seconds they were on the highway again and heading West. Cas prepared himself for a bumpy ride.

_**May or may not be a one shot. Idk yet. If you guys like it I'll add to it but if not I'll leave it as is.**_


	2. Not Without Reason

"So, what's the battle plan?" Castiel asked propping his head up on his hands.

He rolled from his position on his stomach on to his back so he could look at Dean. They were in a cheap motel room. Halfway through the night last night Dean had given into weariness and they had stopped for the night. By now Castiel guessed they were somewhere just outside of Salt Lake City, Utah.

"What?" Dean asked putting down his magazine to look at Cas. He was sitting on his own respective bed across the room.

"Well, if we're still going to California like you said, I estimate we'll be there by tonight so I want to know what your plan is to get your brother."

"No, not that. It's just you said 'battle plan', like we're on some noble quest. As if getting my murderous, drug dealing brother back from a gang is such a royal thing," Dean laughed at Castiel.

Cas could feel the tips of his ears turning red with embarrassment.

"Well at least tell me who they are. The gang. What'd you call them last night? Inforto-"

"Infernum Nocte," Dean corrected. "I doubt you'd have heard of them. There really more of a terrorist organization than gang. You have to be upper level government or a serious criminal to know them."

"So I guess that means I should be impressed with your criminal badassery?" Castiel mocked.

"No actually, my dad was an ex marine. He fought in Vietnam and was a war hero. He was known for using the enemies tactics against them, gorilla warfare, making something out of nothing, bombs just a few of his specialties. So one day, when I'm about six, they call my dad to the Cheyenne Mountain military base. You know, then one inside a hollow mountain. They wanted to talk to him about the Infernum Nocte. Apparently he helped some military officials devise a plan to take them down. Dad comes back and everything is fine and dandy. A week later our house is on fire. I pulled Sammy, God he was just two, I pulled Sammy out of that burning house. Dad went back for mom."

"Where is your dad now?" Castiel asked, horror struck.

"Dead. He couldn't save our mom and he got half his skin singed off. After that he was always a little... Off." He swallowed heavily and set his magazine on the bedside table. "Alright we gotta get moving. If we're gonna get to California by tonight like you said."

Castiel took that as his cue to shut up and get dressed. He had no extra clothing so last night he stripped down to his boxers and undershirt. He picked up his wrinkled slacks and slipped them on his wiry legs. They came a few inches above his ankles. When he had lived with his family there had never been a lot of money to go around. A single parent with seven kids meant Castiel rarely got new clothes. Cas buttoned up the tattered and grungy white dress shirt. Last of all he shrugged on his favorite and only souvenir from a kill, his coat. His black hair was a bit matted and his fingernails were chipped and caked with dirt at the cuticles. Over al he looked greasy and tired and dirty. Everything from his dingy shirt to stained coat and shoes worn down to the sole made him look homeless and half starved. (Which he was.) But none of those thing mattered. In the dim light of the usual back roads Castiel stocked, no one ever noticed how dirty he looked, or if they did they didn't seem to care.

"Hey, you go check us out with the front desk and I'll start the car," Dean tossed Castiel a knife and grabbed his duffel bag before heading out the door.

Cas examined the knife in his hand. It was small, slim, and flexible. More than likely it was a throwing knife. Castiel had never thrown knives before. That would mean he'd need to get in close. A blade this delicate would break if he tried to stab someone in a hard spot, like the ribs. He'd need to go straight for the neck. He could have is fun with who ever after they were dead.

He slipped the knife into his coat pocket and went to check out with the motel clerk.

…

"So what's your story?" Dean asked. They had been on the road for a good five hours. Castiel was getting restless and Dean could tell.

"Do you wanna hear the long version or the short one?"

"Short, I'm not big on sob stories."

Castiel sighed in irritation. "My dad left when I was little, just before Hael, my youngest sister was born. No explanation, just gone. It didn't really matter though, he was barely around so it actually took us a month to figure out he was gone. Well, 'us' was my siblings and I. There are… were seven of us. With that many of us, well, Mother Dearest could only do so much. We ended us raising each other. Then when Michael, he was the oldest, died in a car wreck everything went to hell. He was the only one of us who had a real job, he made most of the money, he pretty much took care of all of us. Gabriel, he was only two year older then me, started dealing drugs to try to make up for it. He got addicted on accident ended up overdosing. Anna committed suicide after that. She drove head on into a semi truck, wanted to "go out same as Michael" that's what her note said. I don't want to say she was weak… but she was, I don't know, codependent on Michael. And she just couldn't cope. Then after Hael and Hanna got hungry enough they held up a convenience store. But of course with our shitty family luck they got caught and were sent to juvie. And I don't even know where Luke went. I guess he ran like I did."

"Shit man, that's rough. But I still don't see how you got to be the master murder artist you are now."

"I was getting to that, so there I was nineteen, barely an adult and all of my family has left me. Except my mom. The useless bitch is laying on a bed killing herself one cigarette at a time. Not doing anything, just like the rest of her life. So fucking useless. Never lifted a finger for anyone but herself. Didn't go to Michael's funeral or Anna's or Gabriel's-"

"So you killed her?" Deans tone seemed strangely sympathetic.

"Yeah. Then I ran. Ran from what I had done. But it actually took me three months, sitting in dozens of strangers cars, and eight states to realize I don't need to run, I didn't need to find myself. I already had, so now three years later, I'm still killing. And I like it."

Dean let out a deep baritone chuckle. "Looks like you have a bit of a flair for the dramatic."

"Fine what's your story, Demon Killer," Cas scoffed

.

"Like I said earlier, mom died in a fire dad got burned, dad also was in a coma for two years. Once he woke up his memory was... Hazy at best and his brain was scrambled. He was fucking convinced someone had intentionally lit our house on fire. Sam and I were in foster care, he took us out. Literally took us right out of the house we were in. Just came in the middle of the night with his car. Anyway, after that it's a bit of blur. We moved around a lot. Dad was paranoid that if we stay in one place for too long they would come again. He trained Sammy and I survive, some times that also meant killing. Military style, he called it, doing what's necessary for the greater good. The whole time he'd rant about the Infernum Nocte. I think towards the he had gone plane crazy and decided it was them that set our house on fire. That's why he went after them. That's also how he died. But when he was gone we still had to keep going. I started with robberies and petty theft but I was like you. It took me a while but I finally realized it. I liked the kill. Feeling the hot blood run over my arms or spray on my chest. Hearing them scream was the music I had always been looking for."

Castiel felt a strong mix between shock, sympathy, agreement, and horror.

Dean turned up the radio.


	3. In A Dark Room

"_A mangled body was found earlier today in a Salt Lake City motel. From the identification found on the body the police have concluded the body is that of the motel desk clerk on duty at the time. The name of the clerk has yet to be released to the public. But the police are telling us the body was found this morning by a patron who was checking out of their room. It was found with intricate designs of wings on the victim's back that match that of the highway side killer who has been slowly moving across the country for the past few months. Additionally we don't know much about this killer..._"

Sam groaned at the deafening, sudden noise and light of the TV. He curled up into a ball, bringing his knees to his chin and pressed his palms to his ears. Cold, bound, and robbed of all his seances, the TV was an assault he wasn't ready for.

His ankles were shackled to the floor in the middle of the room. The length of the chain allowed him only to pace the edges of the room. Blind, due to the total darkness, Sam had at first been determined to learn as much about his surroundings as possible. He had started by determining the dimensions of the room. When he paced it, the room turned out to be a five by five square. He also felt his hands all over the floor and walls. Both were smooth, seamless concrete. The only exception was a metal door without a knob on one of the walls. The ceiling he couldn't reach even when he jumped. That was odd since Sam was well over six feet tall.

Sam's perception of time was completely gone. After they had first jumped and captured Sam he had been set up in a room that was uncomfortably bright. It had a table with two chairs. Everyday men, occasionally a woman, would come in and interrogate him. They wanted to know where he was getting the drugs he sold, who he sold them for, who he sold them to. Sam told them he was independent. He made his own drugs, sold them to whoever bought him and kept his own money. They didn't like that answer much. After that the questions got more personal. Who was his family, where did he grow up, why was he in California, where did he get his training.

Training?

Sam had laughed at that one. Honestly, these people had appeared out of nowhere and threw a bag over his head. Any sane person would have fought back, Sam simply had more experience in this field than most people. Besides, Sam didn't consider the way he had acquired his "skills" training. It was just growing up learning to survive. With of course a psychotic father who made Sam and his brother do crazy shit like camping in the woods without any help for a week or being taught how to torcher people "just incase". The worst part was his father genuinely believed all of that was "for his own good".

Apparently whoever it was that had kidnapped him didn't like that answer. After that they had brought him here and he had no contact with other humans. The only constant measurement of time he had was how often they brought him food. So far he had eaten twenty-seven meals of watery stew, bread, and warm cheese. It was always the same.

But now his skull was splitting. From behind his shaggy brown hair, Sam cracked his eyes open just enough to see the television's unnatural colors dance across the ground. He took the time to let his eyes adjust as much as possible before he surveyed his surroundings. The walls were still the gray concrete mix he had imagined and the knobless door still closed. But standing right below the mysterious new TV was the silhouette of a man.

"Do you know what's great about that guy? He's an artist." The voice was a gravelly baritone, like he had spent a long time yelling yesterday. "You can tell he kills just for the fun of a kill. He needs a new canvas to mark up, a new body to butcher. It's such a tragedy, the police are hunting him rather than the Arts Academy. I'm sure with a bit of training he could become the next Van Gogh, a tortured soul with mind full of talent. What I wouldn't give to see his work, but the damned News won't show it. In all the time the decide to hide things…" His voice dropped low, like he was talking to himself. Sam couldn't hear what he was saying until the deep tone returned it it's normal volume. "I bet his work is absolutely breath taking. And that is where you, Sam Winchester, come in."

Sam jolted at his last name. Never in all of the questioning did they ask for a last name, nor did they call him by his last name. After moving to California and enrolling in college he had tried so hard to bury that name. It was the only thing that connected him to his past life. The one where he had a father that was crazy and a brother that was left broken when he died. Sam may be a drug dealer and a punk but he wasn't a psycho.

"How do you... How do you know that name?" Sam croaked out. It was odd, hearing his voice out loud. After he had spent so much time simply thinking he realized now the voice in his head was far different than his physical voice.

"Finding it was tricky, I have to tell you that. Wesson, now that's a perfectly respectable, normal name. It's what you enrolled at Stanford with. But if any one looks far enough back in a few different state's police records, cross reference it with some press articles, compare some old photos with how you look now, and boom we found a Winchester. And I will say, that police record is quite the resume Mr. Winchester."

Sam groaned, he knew he didn't get everything. Wipe databases, distort or encrypt public records. He had accepted the fact once things were on the Internet you couldn't get them back. He was hoping he'd hide everything well enough. But good as he was with computers there were always still physical copies out there.

"So what do you want with me?" Sam spat.

"I want to see what the victims with wings carved on their back look like."

"Why? Why do you care? Why do you want me to do it? Why not just kill me?" Sam moaned.

The man pivoted to partially face Sam. With his now fully adjusted eyes and in the illumination of the television, Sam could see the man more clearly. He was skinny, and his hair was pale and short, but what was most chilling was his smile. It wasn't a welcoming or genuinely happy smile. Rather, it was cold, like he was please with Sam. As if Sam was prey who had done something to make the hunt more interesting.

"Consider it an entrance exam, I want to see what you can do before I waste my time on you." He pivoted again, this time to fully face Sam. Sam caught a glimpse of crooked, but still white teeth in the glow of the TV. The man took the extra stride to close the gap between them. "So what do you say Sammy?" He stood towering over him with an arm extended to help him up.

Sam took the hand and made his way to his feet. "Ok, I'll take your test. Just don't call me Sammy. It's Sam."

The man let out a low laugh that sounded like muted thunder. "Alright Sam, you can call me Lucifer."


	4. Supply Shopping

"So what do they even do?" Castiel questioned.

Dean had the car parked in a parking lot that connected to a neighborhood kiddy park. They were in a suburb just outside of Los Angeles. Dean said he needed supplies before he made a plan so he knew what he had to work with. As a result, here Castiel stood, while Dean rooted around in the trunk of his car, holding Dean's crap, in the middle of the night.

"Well this here," Dean took a magazine from Cas's arms and held it up, "is a bullet magazine. It'll hold up to 50 high power projectiles in one-"

Cas cut him off by yanking the magazine from his hands and throwing it in the trunk. "No, not this shit, I know what I'm holding! I was talking about the Infernum Nocte, earlier you said they were more of a terrorist group then gang. So what do they do that makes you classify them as terrorist?"

Dean smirked at Cas's irritation. "Do you know what Infernum Nocte mean in Latin? It means Hell Rising, which is exactly what their goal is. Gangs and other forms of organized crime typically strive for some personal gain, like money. The Infernum Nocte strive for anarchy and they have a plethora of different ways to get it. Shootings to cause panic, assassinations of political leaders, spreading rumors to plant distrust and more recently, computer hacking. Just think, by tapping on a few keys they could drain banks, launch nuclear weapons, rewrite laws, and control media." Dean paused for a second to examine a backpack before throwing it to Cas. "I think that's why they want my brother. He was always crazy good with those things."

He tossed Cas a crowbar and a bag as he began walking towards a house in the suburban neighborhood they had parked in. "Now let's go get some stuff."

Cas, to an extent, could definitely understand why Dean decided to come here. Most of these houses were big and belonged to upper middle class families. They were wealthy. The wives had jewelry, spoiled brat kids had loads of electronics, sometimes the the family might have a safe with some cash maybe a gun. Castiel knew most of this because back when he was hitchhiking and before he started killing he'd break into places like these. Sneak in, grab some valuables and creep out. It was a good way to make some quick cash but he doubted there was so much in one of these house Dean could use to attack an organization like this. Kitchen knives were the extent of hand weapons, the gun a father might have in the safe was probably a pistol or hunting rifle and Dean had bigger and better guns in his trunk.

"Dean," Cas started as they reached the back porch of their target house, "what supplies are we looking for?"

"Bomb making materials mostly." He casually stated picking the lock. "My old man taught me how to make some out of household materials. Cleaning supplies have most of the necessary chemicals, nails and glass for shrapnel packs, non-dairy coffee creamer is highly flammable, hydrogen peroxide or nail polish remover have a few uses, aerosol containers make a nice bang and good old whiskey burns real nice. On top of all that, I need some more salt."

"Why do you need salt?" Cas asked.

"It's a, um, ritual my old man had before he did anything risky. He made a ring of salt around himself and prayed before he left the house. He said it kept the demons away." Dean had undertones of laughter in his voice during the last sentence. It was like he didn't believe but still kept up with it because his father had told him to. With a final twist of Dean's skilled hands there was the soft click of the lock opening. "Alright we're in. You look in the kitchen. Go for the cleaning supplies, coffee creamer, salt, and sugar; its a nice stabilizer for explosives. And just remember, above all I need the cleaning stuff."

Dean slid the glass door open and set one foot into the house. They both listened for movement. It was past 3:00 am, the kiddies would have gone to bed before 9:00 and there was no way parents would still be up. There was a slight chance a teen could be in their room blogging or some shit but that was unlikely.

"Ok, now if anything goes south, grab a kid. Use them as a bargaining chip, just try not to go overboard. I hate killing kids."

He turned his back and set off towards the stairs. Before he could get too far off Cas grabbed his shoulder. "All of this stuff is regular everyday items. Why not just go to the store?"

A wry smile crept its way onto Dean's face, "Houses are a one stop shop, plus it's more fun like this." He shrugged off Cas's hand and disappeared up the stairs to the second level.

Cautious and slow moving in the dark, Castiel make his way to the kitchen. It wasn't hard to find most of the items Dean had asked for. Pretty much all kitchens were set up roughly the same way. The sugar was in the pantry, salt in the spice cabinet, and the old man's whisky was up in the top cabinet above the fine crystal. Cas almost found himself laughing as he put all of the items in the backpack Dean had given him. He stuffed the small container of the powdered creamer into the bag before turning to face the sink. He tried opening the cabinets under them in search of the cleaning supplies but they wouldn't budge. Well shit, they must be just for decoration. Cas scoured the kitchen for another place they might keep the supplies but he saw no obvious options. Where else do people keep cleaning supplies?

"Hey," Castiel jumped and did a 360 to see Dean standing at the front of the kitchen. "Did you find everything?"

"Yeah, everything except cleaning stuff. They're not in here."

"Damn it! I need those. They make up the main explosive components. Come on, we need to find them," He set off down the hall opening doors.

Castiel softly padded out of the kitchen and began opening doors as well. If the supplies weren't under the sink they'd probably be in a hall closet or bathroom. The first one was a spare bed room with no one in it. Second had a sleeping figure in a messy bed with crumpled, pale blue sheets. Castiel felt his pulse rise as the figure rolled to face him. The face was young and peaceful in sleep but Cas couldn't tell if if was a girl or boy.

Dean yanked the door shut with an audible slam. "What are you doing? I said I don't like dead kids."

Shamefully Cas open another door, just a crack this time. He caught a glimpse of a white toilet. Received, he opened the door fully and delved into the room. The first thing he did was open the cabinet under the sink. There was some glass cleaner, bleach, toilet bowl cleaner, and shower spray.

"Dean, will this do?" He asked beckoning his partner over.

Dean examined the labels on each of the products. "Yeah, they're good. Throw 'em in the bag and let's get out." He began shoveling them into Cas's bag on the bathroom floor.

"I dont think so," Behind both of the thieves there was the soft click of metal to metal. "Now I want you to stand up with your weapons on the ground and hands above your head."

Cas dropped the crowbar Dean had given him. It landed with a loud metallic thump on the tile floor. He stood calmly, raising his now empty hands. He managed to get a good look at the man who was threatening them. It was a middle aged guy, gray beginning to pepper his hair and glasses on the bridge of his nose. In one of his hands was a small hand gun, it must have been what made the clicking noise earlier. That meant it was loaded and ready to fire. His eyes were puffy, sleep deprived, and locked on Castiel but they were still filled with an undying passion to protect.

"Alright now you," His eyes shifted from Cas to Dean who was still on the floor.

Everything about his body shifted, including the aim of the gun. Castiel saw his chance, he lunched at the man who had made the mistake of standing a mere three feet from Castiel. The man saw Cas jump and tried to protect himself. Castiel heard a shot go off before he landed on the man. They rolled, a tangle of limbs, down the hall. Castiel landed on top and took the opportunity to pull his favorite knife from inside his coat. The man below him was screaming loudly enough to wake everyone else in the house. Burtally, Cas shoved one hand over his mouth to silence him and sliced his throat. Cas felt the man cough up blood onto his hands rather than screaming. It was warm and thick, bubbling between his fingers. The fighting spirit of the body below him faded and transformed into weak, postmortem spasms. Only when he could see the dead, glazed look frost over his eyes did Cas remove his hand.

A scream pierced through the night. Castiel nearly had a heart attack and he fell off the corpse he had just created. His head snapped to his left, standing in a doorway was the child he had seen earlier. Now he could definitely tell it was a little boy, no more than ten. His ginger hair was plastered to his face and his brown eyes were full of terror. He screamed again as tears rolled down his freckled face. Cas stood up and took a step towards the boy, bloody knife raised. The boy shook like a leaf and slammed the door.

"Shit," Dean ran down the hall holding Castiel's crowbar and full supply bag. "You get that kid, I'll take care of the wife and see if they have other kids."

Cas lickd his lips, the numb realization of how badly he had fucked up. "Okay, yeah. Meet at the car after?"

Dean nodded and let out a sigh, "I fucking hate dead kids."

He dropped Cas's bag but kept the crowbar and trotted back up the stairs. Cas looked back at the body on the floor still twitching. He shifted his line of sight to the closed door hiding the little boy. Cas had never killed a kid before. Most of his victims had been college kids working on their Karma or middle aged folk whose children were gone but still had a parenting instinct. He'd just have to be gentle with the boy, quick, painless as possible death and Cas would make his body real pretty. His would have the most beautiful designs, hair combed nicely, and body wiped of unnecessary blood. He would look exactly like the angel Cas was sending him to become.

Cas tried for the knob, locked. No longer caring about noise, as they had already disrupted the house, Cas raised a foot and kicked in the door in. Another loud shriek like before sounded from the bed in the center of the room. Cas could see under a huddled mass of sheets there was the form of a child curled into a ball. Ever so gently, Cas drew the sheets back layer by layer until the sob-swollen face of the boy was revealed. The child's crying got louder and racking sobs overtook him as soon as he could see Castiel.

"Shhhhh," Cas coaxed wiping a tear from the boy's face. As if it was a command the noise stopped but silent tears kept streaking down the boy's cheeks. "I'm sorry you had to see that. I thought you were asleep," Cas pulled the boy into his lap, he was shaking now. Cas ran his bloody fingers though the child's hair, smoothing the tangles. "I promise I don't want to hurt you. This will only pinch a bit."

Castiel felt the child tense up in his lap. Suddenly, before the boy could try to bolt, Cas placed both his hands on the boy's head and snapped it to the left. He felt the joints groan, bones crack, and spinal cord rupture. It all reverberated into the night air sounding much like if a person were to pop their knuckles. There was no struggle, the boy fell limp onto the bed. He didn't spasum like his father and his eyes were closed just like he was sleeping.

"Good," Cas thought. "Silent and quick." He could only hope it was painless.

He made quick work of the symbols and ruins. There was a part of him that felt bad about making up the boy. But that part of his brain was small. The larger part relished how the blood that tumbled out of the wounds was still warm. He loved how the delicate, thin blade Dean had given him back at the motel sliced so nicely and made clean lines. The young skin of the boy was soft and smooth, Cas cut the ruins into it like butter. He laid the boy's body face up on the now red sheets with his arms clutched to grab the opposite shoulder. By the way the arms were positioned and the ruins Cas drew it looked like the boy had wing that wrapped around his front, surrounding him in downy softness. Without disturbing the body, Cas grabbed one of the nearby pillows and took the case off, exited the boy's room and returned to the bathroom down the hall. First he washed his hands of the boy's blood then he wadded up the fabric and stuck it under the running faucet. Sopping wet, Cas rung the pillow cover out until it was only damp and went back to the room. He started with the child's legs and feet, which only had a handful of flowing designs and less blood, and slowly moved his way up to the child's arms and chest. He wiped the the excess blood off the body the reveal in further emphasis the morbidly beautiful designs Cas had constructed. He need to go back to the bathroom several times to rinse and wring out the pillowcase to keep it fresh and not simply smear the blood around. Finally, Cas finished brushing the boy's hair. He had started earlier with his fingers but now he used a bush he had found in the bathroom to do a proper job. Cas took a step back to admire his work.

This little angel was his most beautiful so far.


	5. Planning Period

Cas had just finished wiping the blood from his knives when Dean finally returned.

"What took you so long?" Cas asked stowing the knife in his jacket and tossing the red rag in the trunk of Dean's car.

"You're not the only one with a ritual," Dean took a large towel from the trunk and began wiping his crowbar. It had… bloody chunks all over it. "Just because mine isn't as… tasteful as your's that doesn't mean I don't have one."

"You saw what I did to the boy?" Cas asked. Part of him was hurt Dean had peeked in. His work was his own and no one was allowed to touch or look at it.

"Yeah, it was artsy. Where did you get the designs from? They looked pretty wicked."

Cas tried to think back to the first time he had seen the ruins. Ever since he was little they had danced just out of sight. They were always out of his reach but he was desperate to touch them, but they seemed slip right out of his fingers. He knew they were special and he had searched long and hard for a way to express them. He had taken drawing, painting, ceramics, creative writing, hell even a metalsmithing class in school looking for a medium to convey them though. But none of those had ever been enough, they just couldn't communicate at full length what Cas wanted them to. But when Castiel had killed his mother, that was the first time it had happened, in fact it was an accident. It was like his had was possessed when the ruins appeared on her stomach. His hands mechanically moved on their own swooping to create graceful lines and twists with a crude kitchen knife. After a few more kills he finally figured it out: the bodies were his only possible canvas. His medium was flesh and blood and his tools were steel and pain.

"I don't know, they were just always kind of there. I just didn't really figure them out until I started killing." Cas answered after his moment of thought.

"Oh yeah? And what are they?" Dean pushed further.

Cas spoke fast, like the air was running out of his lungs faster than his body could allow. "Power, I don't know how to explain it, but it's like a drug. I get drunk on it. I crave my next hit. And it's not just killing that does it for me, but that certainly is great, is those fucking ruins. The Art they create is my pure power drug."

The silence that follow was complete. It was like the whole world had stopped to gawk at how selfish Castiel's motives were. They weren't the noble pursuit of killing highway pervs or other scumbags or ending people's misery. What he did, he did for himself.

"I understand. I mean I don't do ruins or any shit like that but power, that's what I'm about. You don't know how sweet it is to hear someone cry for the life of a loved one when you're about to kill them. It's like ecstasy to beat a parent shitless and their child knows they're next. Their fear is so intense. It's total and complete and I'm the source of it. It's written across their broken bodies, plastered on their face and in their eyes."

Cas could visibly see the blood lust in Dean's eyes. It was as obvious as the pretty green that had first struck Castiel when they met. Maybe Dean was right, you can tell normal people from killers only by looking at their eyes.

"Alright, phase one complete," Dean tossed the bloodied towel with chunky red stuff on it back into the trunk and the crowbar after it. "Now we need to find a place to assemble this stuff and come up with your battle plan."

Dean headed to the front of the car and Cas could hear the jingle of keys.

"You're never going to let me live the one little line down are you?" Cas sighed opening the door.

"Nope."

…

Sam was about 100% positive he was in the same room as before when they had questioned him. Same table, same chair, same stains on the wall. The only difference was the new laptop that sat on the table. He hadn't been here that long, three hours by the clock on the computer screen, but in that time he was almost done cracking the police department firewall. After that it was basic navigation. He'd just need to find the file for this angel wing killer and type a few more lines of code to open his file and find some crime scene photos. It was what happened after he found those photos that Sam worried about. The crushing weight of what happened after this test was maddening.

The clicking of computer keys was Sam's only solace. The soft click-clack of the keys had always been comforting to him. Now in this time of stress it acted as a road way to freedom and salvation. Every click-clack getting him one coding sequence closer to passing Lucifer's stupid test. A stupid task for a guy with a stupid name. I mean, who actually goes by the name of the literal Devil. And by some slim shot that is his real name, his parents must have hated him.

The sound of squeaky door hinges pulled Sam off his train of thought. He shifted in his chair to look at the door behind him. There was a girl standing in the entrance holding a plate. She didn't look threatening. She was petite, with a round face and soft brown eyes to match her brunette hair. She also didn't look exceptionally old, only 23 or 24, same age as Sam. In a normal situation, Sam could easily physically overpower her. But after experiencing first hand how resourceful and unforgiving this place was he doubted it. Likely this girl had some kind of power or device that could keep Sam in line.

"They send you to spy on me?" Sam asked turning back to his computer to work.

"No, they sent me to give you lunch." Sam heard the girl's boots slap on the smooth concrete as she made her way over to set the plate on the table next to Sam.

He looked to see the metal plate held a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with some chips and a water bottle.

"Oh, um, thanks," Sam said shocked at the food change. In the Dark Room he had been fed shit food, now this looked like a five star meal.

"Yeah, I know it's not much. I tried to spring you for the filet mignon but we were fresh out." She said tucking her thumbs into the front of her jeans.

"No, this is great, thank you so much," Sam had already attacked the sandwich so his words were sloppy and muffled.

The girl let a smile pull at the one side of her mouth, "I'm Meg."

"Sam," He had just finished one of the sandwich halves. This freed his hands and allowed him to stick out a hand for Meg to shake.

She let that one sided smile grow to the other side as her shook Sam's hand. His fingers were sticky with a bit of peanut butter. "I know that, everyone here knows that." Her voice was tinged with a suppressed laugh.

Sam felt a blush rise to his cheeks, "Oh, well I didn't know that."

"Of course not silly," She said with faux sweetness. "You're Lucifer's little protégé, he's the only one who's allowed to corrupt you. I shouldn't even be talking to you."

"Why do you call that guy 'Lucifer'? Like, there's no way that's his real name."

She shrugged, "Do you know where you are?"

"What?" Sam was caught off guard at the abrupt conversational change. "Um, no I don't."

"Well, I'm not supposed to say but, his name is kinda a joke around here. We're like his demons or whatever and he's our leader, our Lucifer."

"So that's not his real name?"

"No, it's not his name and I don't know his real one." Meg smiled and without thinking about it, raised her hand and ruffled Sam's mom of long brown hair.

Sam jerked back, recoiling from from her touch. It was only instinctual, in his whole life he'd only ever let Dean get close to him. But now he kinda regretted it when he saw the fleeting look of hurt on Meg's face.

"Um," Sam cleared his throat, "I should get back to work."

"Yeah me too, otherwise I'll get whipped for spoiling you," Sam could hear her boots retracing their steps back to the door she had come from and door swing open on it's squeaky hinges again. "But will you just… will you just try to remember me when you get your power?"

Sam looked up from his computer and over his shoulder with wide and confused eyes. "Yeah, yeah I can... I can do that."

He heard the door swing closed and the ghost click of its lock. His soft click-clack of typing returned and the thought swam in his mind.

Power? What power?


	6. Attack

Castiel could feel the smooth purr of the car engine vibrating softly in his seat. He tried to let the feel of Dean's car calm his anxiety, but the backpack full of bombs in his lap was making it hard. He was relatively trusting of Dean's skills, but homemade bombs, or any bombs for that matter, were only so stable. With every bump and pothole in the road Castiel flinched, fearing his immediate destruction.

"Calm down will you?" Dean instructed. "Normally I do this kind of stuff without a plan, so since we have one everything will go that much smoother."

"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better," Castiel spat back sarcastically. "How often do you do this kind of stuff? Breaking into some place's headquarters?"

"Breaking and entering is pretty common, but this is my first high stakes go at it. But I pull Sam's ass out of trouble all the time so I doubt this will be that much different."

Cas rolled his eyes, "You must really care about your brother if you do this kind of stuff for him all the time."

Dea shrugged, "Usually it's not this bad. He'll get arrested or something and I bail him out or he owes someone money so he calls me because he doesn't want his hands dirty. I don't know, when we were kids my only job was to protect him. It's just a lingering instinct."

"I don't think Luke would do that for me," Cas thought aloud. "I mean, Michael probably would have and Gabe actually did bail me a out a few times. But they don't matter any more because they're gone." He let out a half hearted laugh. "I don't even know where Luke, my last living and accessible sibling, is."

Dean down shifted the gears as he brought the car to a gradual stop. "Well how about this? When we finish this, I'll help you find him."

Cas look over at Dean. This was the most human he had ever seen in Dean. Normally Dean looked cold, untouchable, or angry or all of the above. But now he had _almost_ softened. It was like Cas had hit a nerve, but in a good way. He could _almost_ say he saw affection in Dean's hard green eyes.

"Thanks, I'd like that."

Cas pulled the door handle in time with Dean so both of their doors popped open at once. It was a warm night for late fall. Then again Castiel was born and raised in the midwest so the humidity of Los Angeles intensified everything. Castiel still didn't think much of the weather when he knew he wouldn't be out in it long. They had a short walk to make through industrial LA. Crumbling, faded buildings littered the sides of the cracked main street. Some of them were larger, most likely apartments or office buildings, but most of them looked to be small factories. The allies sandwiched in between them had dumpsters and graffiti. Overall the place looked shabby, not where a gang to the scale of Infernum Nocte would camp out.

"Dean," Cas asked when they had stopped just out of view of the headquarters. "How did you know where to find this place?"

"They sent me a letter," He said nonchalantly as he pried up a manhole cover with a crowbar. "It said 'Come and get him.' With a picture of Sammy looking beat up. I found the return address lead here and then did some research into my dad's old journals and one thing lead to another and here we are now." There was a satisfying clang of metal on asphalt that signaled their entrance to the sewers was open.

"A letter? They sent you a letter in this day and age and you're not suspicious?" Cas put his hands on his hips like Anna used to alway do when she wanted to emphasize a point.

"I'm a man of action Cas. My brother needs saving so I'll be damned if I don't do something. And besides, I have you here to help me. If their plan is to capture me they won't expect you."

Dean put the crowbar back into his pack and headed down the latter into the sewers of LA. Cas checked to make sure his backpack full of bombs is secure one last time before he followed Dean down the latter.

The sewer smelt dank. Not like "full of piss and crap" dank, but more like how Colorado had smelt. One of the small mountain town Cas had gotten stuck in for a week when there was a heavy snow had smelt just like this. The place stank of weed. Good to know this was the place in LA teens and hobos went to smoke a bowl.

Cas opened his mouth and stopped breathing from his nose to deal with the smell. It wasn't that far of a walk down here, only about half a block. This was the first part of Dean's battle plan: attack from below. Castiel had memorized the basic layout of the sewers surrounding a two block radius and now he lead Dean to the headquarters. From above it was a shabby, crumbling, and small factory like the rest of the street, and below it wasn't much different. It didn't matter though, in Castiel's mind he flew through the passages like a GPS.

"Ok here we are," Cas rapped his knuckles on a bricked wall indicating this was the building.

"Perfect, now we get to us these," Dean pulled three cleaning supply bombs from his pack.

He placed them all three of them against the wall. They looked each looked slightly different stacked there. One was in an empty whiskey bottle, the ingredients carefully stacked within. The other two were packed inside PVC pipes, those two were the most complex ones. Certain chunks of ingredients had been rolled into a ball like play-dough inside with excelerant surrounding it and both ends of the pipe sealed with wood. Dean piled the three on top of each other with a bed alcohol soaked gunpowder below them.

Dean pulled a box of matches from his pocket and offered them to Cas, "Wanna do the honors?"

Cas took the box, pulled four matched out, and struck them to life. He tossed them at the bed of whiskey and gunpowder as Dean dashed back behind the corner they had just turned. Cas followed suite quickly. He crouched low against the wall waiting for the coming explosion. Dean said it would take a moment, a moment for the burning mixture to heat the excelerant in the PVC bombs to an exploding point. Then when they went off it would trigger the whiskey bottle bomb and with the blast from all three bombs it was sure to obliterate the wall. If not Cas had three more just like them in his pack.

When the explosion finally happened it shook the wall Cas hid behind and left a ringing in his heart. He quickly shrugged it off as Dean pull him by the elbow to inspect the damage. From the base of the wall to about Dean's chest there was a ragged, circular hole that even bit in the pavement below.

Dean pulled his pistol from in between his jeans and the small of his back and squinted through the smoke in the building. Dean took a cautious step in, gun raised at the ready. He surveyed the room, best he could with the debris and dust, before motioning for Cas the come in. His line of sight was limited the no more than three feet in front of him but to Cas it seen like this was some kind of video room. On broken desks there sat smashed monitors. In front of them there were shredded chairs and bleeding people. The room hand five bodies in it, all of them killed by the bast. It made sense after all, the room was barely a closet and with such a high impact it was inevitable.

Except one of the bodies wasn't quite dead yet.

It was a faint groan that gave her away. She sat in the corner of the room furthest from the blast with a filing cabinet partially protecting her. Dean hussled over the displaced pieced of concrete to get to her.

"Where are we?" Dean demanded, grabbing the girl's dust ladened, brunette hair.

She moaned again, louder this time and coughed up a glob of thick blood before croaking out, "Base… men… surval… ence." She licked her lips, coating them in blood.

"Do you know where Sam Winchester is being kept?" Dean asked again. The girl closed her eyes but Dean shook her until they opened again, "You're not fucking dying on me until you tell me where my brother is."

"They moved him… to... Lucifer's room… second story."

"Hey," Cas crouched next to her and cupped her face with his hands, "What's your name?"

"Meg," Her pupils were blown wide, wider than was ever considered normal.

"Well, Meg you get to direct us to my brother because I don't have the time or patience to wonder around blind." Dean let go of her hair. She fell from Cas's hand's and landed back on the desk in front of her. "Cas, carry her. I'll cover you, and you lead the way."

Cas pulled Meg from her chair and threw her on to his back, firefighter style. "Ok Meg, were do we go first?"

She swallowed heavily before whispering, "There's a staircase outside this door, go up the first flight and on the right…"


	7. Job Offer

Sam normally wasn't claustrophobic, but recently he'd been have a spell of if. Since he had been stolen from his life, capture had been a series of one small room to the next. It had taken some adjustment in the beginning but he was well used to the prospect of being inside indefinitely by now. But there was something about this room that was unnerving. The walls were a light shade of pink, something you wouldn't notice unless everything else was perfect white. And that slight change, along with the increasingly crushing walls Sam was starting to get nauseous. This room seemed more like a closet to Sam then the grand bed room of a cult leader.

A cult was Sam current theory on what this place was. At first it had been police, the military, after than a gang he had pissed off now he mind had turned to a cult as the answer. Sam's thoughts were rudely interrupted by the obnoxiously loud squeak of a door which ricocheted of the pressing walls. A single person was admitted inside.

The man didn't walk, he glided into the room. Sam could tell from the man's stature and smile he was the same person for the dark room, but now in the light Sam could see he was fairly attractive. His hair was the color a fresh hay and eyes were a pale blue that the smile on this pinkish lips did not reach. He seemed too young to hold a position of power like a cult leader. Maybe it was the real guys assistant.

"Sam Winchester, I must say I'm impressed." He lower his gaze from Sam to a stack of papers in his hands that Sam hadn't noticed a moment ago. "The speed at which you retrieved these is remarkable. Almost as incredible as this artwork here. Now Sammy don't worry, you're still very special and have lots of potential, but this, this is someone who has reached their potential. Did you happen to catch a peak of any of these?"

Sam shook his head. He honestly hadn't wanted to see. For months now he'd heard on the new reports about this roadside killer. At first his interest had been piked, thinking it might be his brother. That faded though when they kept finding the bodies in such obvious places. Dean would know to hide them better. After the worry for his brother diminished, it because just another murder. If he'd wanted to see he would have hacked the police records before now.

"Well why don't you take a look and tell me what you see?" He thrust the glossy photos into Sam's lap.

Honestly he was utterly indifferent on what Lucifer called "art" but the technicalities were stunning. The precision at which the blade was used to make the swooping curves of the abstract shapes cut in the skin was the first thing to catch Sam's eye. The guy must have been so used to the tension ripping skin would create and how to counter that with pressure in the blade. Also the planning and detail he must have went through to know exactly how to put the most symbols on one body and how the blend them so they coordinate screamed professionalism. Like one where the photo depicted a little boy laying on his bed with designs starting at the feet and working up to draw the viewer's eye to the focus point on the boy's chest. It looked like wings, strong and muscled, were encasing the boy. His very flesh made to look like it was protecting him. Even the placing and arrangement of the body made to maximize the desired effect. One in particular that really caught Sam's attention had a man laying face down on a strip of smooth concrete. His arms spread wide out, feathered designs dominated his back and drawn on the concrete in between his arms and back, with only half the grace his skin held, were the rest of the feathers. They were drawn in with his own blood.

"I think his guy knows how to use a knife pretty well," Sam replied to the formerly asked question.

Lucifer looked some what flustered, like if you were to tell someone their favorite book was absolute garbage. "Yes, I know, but besides that," He took the pictures back from Sam and began reexamining them. "What do these pictures tell you about their artist? How they live? where that came from? I'm trying to get you to think outside the box Sammy boy." There were twenty or so different snaps shots and with each new question Lucifer pulled out a new photo and shoved it on Sam's lap for him to look at.

Sam rolled his shoulders, sat up straighter, and pushed the extra papers off his lap. "I told you to call me Sam, and I was just answering your question. I my only thought was 'that guy must be good with a knife'."

"Well _Sam_," He put a little bit too much emphasis on his name; it made a slight chill roll up Sam's spine, "objective number one when you start your training is to start time a little more creativity."

"What training?" A look of puzzlement began to form on Sam's face again for the twentieth time today.

A weak smile broke over Lucifer's face. "She actually didn't tell you? The one time I'd've let it slide if that dumb whore Meg went blabbing about everything and suddenly mum's the word." Sam's look of confusion grew as Lucifer took a breath to reset his temper. "I'm in the business of gathering the best of the best to myself, and you, Sam Winchester, do qualify for that position. In fact, you over qualify for a desk job like most of the people here so I'm prepared to ask you, Sammy boy, if you would be willing to train for a leadership role in our fine organization. If you play your card right you might even get my job one day."

"I still don't even know where I am!" Sam nearly cried.

Lucifer rolled his eyes so hard his head did a partial rotation with them. His patience was clearly gone, and his earlier anger that seemed almost childish was gone. "You know the people you're dear old daddy used to rant on and on about when he was drunk? And the same people who torched you house as a kid? Yeah, that's us. Welcome to the Infernum Nocte." Sam sat down on the only bed in the room, a faint memory of his father mumbling rolled through his consciousness. "But don't blame me personally for those things. They were the doings of former management. Now that I'm in charge I'm more interested in cyber crime. There's less risk and less casualties, bigger effect with more to gain. Now with that having been said and the whole situation clarified, Sam we've been watching you for a long time and I know'll be perfect for the job. So what do ya' say?"

"I think-" but Sam didn't get to finish his thought before a loud explosion sounded right outside the room and the building shook with it's impact.


End file.
